Lost Identity
by Siriusly.Smitten.x
Summary: "She's hard to miss, Moony…not the smallest of things – or the most attractive". The words ushered from his unpleasant - yet perfectly defined mouth - were a form of mean and horrible. But more than that, they were the words that broke her heart. R&R!
1. Chapter 1: Whispers in the dark

_Hello! _

**Some stuff you may need to know:  
**_. This is a Marauder-era story.  
__. This is similar to my previous story on here. I wrote Make a wish… a very long time ago, and have since decided to…further it. This is not a re-write of that story, a repost, or anything of that sort. The themes, I guess, will be loosely similar, but it is an entirely new story, hence I have refrained from calling it a repost. So, if you have read Make a wish…or if you haven't, it's fine! It won't matter in the slightest. This is an entirely new story.  
__. Any characters you don't recognize belong to me, as does the plot and discourse. I do not own Hogwarts, or any HP characters. JK is god. The end.  
__. I've tried to keep this as canon as possible. However, if I do end up changing things, please, oh please refrain from exclaiming "BUT __THTZ__NT__ WH WUZ MEANT 2 HAPZ IN TEH BOKZ!__11"__ Take your net speak and go read Twilight instead.  
__. Genre, I here you say? I'd like to say I've tossed a bit of everything in there: drama, adventure, romance, and humor, fluff even?  
__. I appreciate constructive criticism, but please don't flame. I haven't got a BETA for this, so if the grammar and spelling is a little off, feel free to let me know. I do make a habit of fine-tooth-reading it, but of course, I will miss things.  
__. I ADORE reviews. Truly. Even if it is just one word, or a sentence – heck, even if you hate it – tell me. Review!_

_Just a few things about the story:  
__It starts at the beginning of seventh year.  
__As far as shipping goes, I'll say Lily/James and Sirius/OC.  
__The rating is PG – 13 – for later chapters. _

_Enjoy. Read. Review. _

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**Chapter One **  
Whispers In The Dark

_Crying doesn't indicate that you're weak.  
Since birth, it has always been a sign that you're alive._

Darkness had swept over me, and at seventeen, I was no longer scared like a child. The exclusive portraits, paint, and artifacts that decorated the Potter mansion's walls were simple outlines in the sinister stairway that was illuminated only by dim moonlight. Nothing at all, including myself, was what it appeared to be. For the moments belonging to darkness, I was not myself, and I was not here. I was a shadow on a wall, a soul in the dark, and a sleepless child. I was anything; I wanted to be anything but what I was.

You could say the darkness was my friend. So, at two in the morning, when all else was quite, I danced down the grand stairs, the dim moonlight flicking through the various skylights in the ceiling. I dodged each beam of light as it came, a thief in the night not wanting exposure of any sort. Even though I had been here going on two weeks, I was still unsure where Mrs. Potter stood on the walking around after dark rule. I had a sickening feeling she was much like McGonagall in that area.

Once reaching a landing, I slowed, taking curious steps forward, making sure Mr. and Mrs. Potter were nowhere to be seen, and that the Potter house elves were as scheduled, cleaning the loos. I muttered _lumos_, and my wand sparked to life, and led the way down the passage.

It wasn't so much a passage as opposed to a grand hall that would not have been out of place in a roman cathedral. I failed to see its beauty in the dark, and as I passed a royal archway where the pillars met, I felt bullied by the hall, as if it were mocking me – laughing at me.

I clung to the walls, and silently cursed every time my feet crossed a squeaky plank of wood – which was far too often for my liking. It was bad enough walking the normal halls of my own house at night, but this…this was something else entirely. James Potter didn't live in a house – he lived in a cathedral – a manor of honor - A manor that honored him. I chucked to myself as I passed an extensive row of photographs of the Potter men over the ages.

I knew the kitchen was approaching. I could already see the outline of glistening gold of the doorway that the house elves had decorated last summer according to Remus Lupin, who had acted as my tour guide upon my arrival. The kitchen was one of the few rooms I remembered. It was, after all, an essential room; if I lived in my own cathedral like James Potter, I would be honoring food on my walls – not Potter men, who I noticed the other day weren't all as dashing as the youngest Mr. Potter.

I grinned of personal accomplishment as I neared the golden doors. I was almost sweating, and wiped my brow with the corner of my borrowed nightclothes. They were Lily's, and I was glad she was fast asleep and not here to witness me abusing her clothes with sweat. Although, to be fair, Lily deserved a bit of revenge from me. She is, after all, the reason I'm here at all.

While James and others alike had considered Lily's generosity as noble and exceptionally kind, I had taken another approach. When Lily asked me to accompany her to stay at James's house for the remaining two weeks of the holidays, I had laughed – then swore – and then asked for clarification with my most commonly used phrase of "you've got to be kidding me".

But, Lily wasn't kidding me at all. She was deadly serious, and if I recall correctly, a little scared about going to stay herself. I wasn't scared – I was mortified when she asked, no – told me I would be coming with her. She had said James and his parents were fine with it, that "the more the merrier", and that she needed me for moral support. Meeting the boyfriend's family was a nasty business – and intimidating when they have a hall from Rome.

It was for the last reason and the last reason alone, that I had agreed. Plus, she had received some excellent publicity for her "lovely thought and gesture" by James's parents. They think she's a sort of angel for inviting her friend along. I myself, after knowing my best friend for seven years, knew better than to consider her motives anything but sinful.

"You're just scared about meeting them," I had told her, laughing, "and you're scared about being alone with his friends for two weeks."

Lily had frowned, although agreed in what I had told her.

"Rach," she had practically pleaded, "I need you." She was nothing short of getting down on one knee.

I didn't say no to my pleading friend, so I guess it is partially my fault that I've endured two weeks of preliminary hell. It's been two weeks of watching James Potter smother Lily in sloppy kisses each morning at breakfast. Two horrible weeks of watching James's friends eat like farm animals every night at dinner. Two weeks spending time in the owlery, pretending to like looking at all the owls while Lily was out with James. Two weeks of being called, "Lily's Friend" instead of my own name by the likes of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.

Like I said: Hell.

Tonight was my last night here, and before I entered the kitchen, I bid a farewell to its lovely golden archway. As quietly as possible, I pulled open one of the royal doors, and jumped back in surprise at what I saw. The kitchen lanterns were lit. They illuminated the long single bench in the middle of the kitchen, and the hundreds of black cupboards on each side. Instantly, without even considering it, I took a step out of the room, not wanting to disturb whoever was in there. Confrontation with the likes of James Potter and Sirius Black had never been sought after.

I was, however, too late.

"Who's there? Is that you Lily?" Came a muffled voice belonging to James Potter himself.

Cringing slightly, I took a step back into the room, closing the door behind me. It just had to be him, didn't it? Just had to be.

"Hello?" I called out, ignorantly, pretending not know who it was. I took further steps inside, and leaned against one of the cupboards.

After a great deal of shuffling, muffling and clattering, four male figures slowly emerged from inside a cupboard. Their eyes glazed towards me, and I could feel the flustered red tinge emerging on my cheeks. While three of them wore identical blameless expressions, the third, who was smarter than the others put together, didn't bother looking blameless.

"Oh, Howell, hi," James Potter spoke again, his once gruff voice now soft and gentle. He took half a step out of the cupboard and stood in front of it, hiding whatever was in there, "I thought it was my mother – or worse, Lily."

James Potter's hair was messier than usual, and I figured they had at least tried to sleep. He had a shocking case of bed hair.

I half smiled, warmly, cautiously taking a few more steps towards the four boys that surrounded the cupboard, "morning," I replied.

I stumbled on my own two feet, doing a strange hoping motion out of anxiety. I looked around the kitchen, trying to find something to distract me for a few painful moments. I set my sights on a small kettle, pretended to be interested in the old thing, when really I was looking at the boys from out of the corner of my eyes, trying to make out their facial expressions.

"Why are you up so early?" Remus Lupin asked, his expression still unlike his friends. I slipped slightly, a little surprised. I turned towards the sandy haired boy; glad it was him who was speaking to me. I didn't care much for Black or Potter.

"Couldn't sleep, and I'm thirsty," I replied truthfully. The horror of waking up to one of the boy's pranks had kept me up for her entire visit to the mansion. I had heard the rumors – that it was Sirius Black that put those rats in Imogene's bed, and that Potter liked to change people's hair colors.

"What brings you to the kitchen?" Sirius Black asked, finally speaking, his misty grey eyes looking mysteriously at me. He looked like he was trying to find some sort of hidden meaning behind my visit – as if I was here on some sort of secret mission. Trust him and his roguish mind to come to such conclusions.

"I've heard water cures thirst," I muttered. I hadn't intended for it to come out so sarcastic, and instantly sought for something to make up for my rudeness, "…just, you know…itchy throat and all." I lied, feeling utterly stupid. Pettigrew and Black both had raised eyebrows. I gathered Potter was only refraining from doing so for Lily's sake.

I carried out my desire by fetching a cup and placing it under the tap, which magically turned on. I felt all four pairs of eyes on me.

"What are you doing here?" I asked in my most polite manner.

"Ever tried Fire Whisky, Howell?" Black asked. His eyes now gleamed with excitement. Normally, I'd be a fan of such a thrill. Put it this way, I was no stranger to the odd fire whisky, but the way Black's eyes literally sparkled, made me think twice about admitting my moderate liking for the alcohol. When I didn't nod, but rather stood limply and didn't say anything, Black drew up his own conclusion.

"Oh, Prongs, we have ourselves a fire whisky virgin," Black laughed lightly, amusing himself. I didn't bother asking what 'Prongs' meant. The name reminded me of a huge pair of tongs – as in the cooking utensils, and I wondered how this related to James.

I didn't bother correcting Black. He had never appeared to be the type that appreciated being corrected. Once again, I remained unusually silent, and let the boy's draw their own conclusion.

"I bet Howell's had her fair share of the stuff, Padfoot," chuckled Potter. I simply shrugged, glad not one of them remembered my actions at last years Christmas Party. I had been somewhat less than elegant, my actions being the result of alcohol mixing. I had to admit, Lily and I had deposed of the evidence (vomit-covered cushions and rug belonging to the Gryffindor common-room) before anyone had much of a chance to figure anything out.

Black's stare hardened. I could actually feel myself being judged. It was odd being fatally aware of the situation. Most of the time, people are judged behind their backs, or in the most subtlest of ways. But this, this was all wrong. His gaze wasn't just hard – it was deadly. I didn't consider myself special – Black does this to everyone. Everyone at Hogwarts -the ghosts, Mrs. Norris, boys, girls, and animals are all victims to Black's critical stare.

"Well, see you in the morning," I stumbled, wondering why on earth I hadn't made an exit for myself sooner.

"Good night!" Lupin practically bellowed. I was now aware why he had kept his mouth snapped shut – and why a half empty bottle of whisky sat on the bench by his hand. He reminded me very much of myself the last time I had been in the company of whisky.

I left – and not a moment too soon. Instead of heading straight back to my shared room with Lily, I stood outside the kitchen door, sipping my water. I didn't trust myself nearly enough to make it up two flights of stairs without dropping the cup and ruining Mrs. Potter's nice carpet. And, I was pretty sure the glass I had chosen was a sort of precious crystal, and surely, the most expensive thing I had ever held. Beside, I liked the view: the golden archway literally shone.

I could here the boy's talking – or howling from inside. There was a clatter of a bottle, followed by a lot of swearing. I laughed to myself. Even though their conversation came out in mutters and grunts, it was fun to listen.

"I should go find Lily," James was saying. By standing outside, and not in close proximity to the boys that made me critically nervous, I realized the full extent of how drunk James sounded.

"She's asleep, Prongs," Pettigrew reminded him. "Here, let me take that. You've had enough."

"Let me go, Wormtail! Or do you want Lily for yourself?" James roared, laughing at the same time. I shook her head in dismay from outside the door.

"Evans is awake! The whole village is awake thanks to us!" Lupin bellowed, letting out a few high-pitched laughs.

"It's thanks to you that everyone is awake. I bet that is what woke Howell up," Black corrected him.

"Was Rachel here?" Remus asked.

I chuckled.

"She's pretty hard to miss, Moony," replied Black, in a tone of mockery. He snorted, gruffly, while the others muffled a faint laugh. I did not need him to elaborate, but of course, he did, "not the most small of creatures, is she? Or really, come to think of it, the most attractive?"

My body did not respond. Like a man held at gunpoint, I remained still and surrendered every ounce of self-pity I had. If I didn't gasp – or moan, or god forbid, cry – then it wasn't real. The crystal class that both my hands were cupping carefully as if it were a child prevented me from burying my head in my hands. I did nothing as the feeling of utter ache entered me. It was gut-wrenching to hear a truth I had always sort of known, but had never really accepted, be verbally released – by someone I barely knew. Obviously, other people had noticed it as much as I had.

My thighs resembled those of tree stumps. While my facial features were what my mother always described as "beautiful artwork", my middle was evidence that I liked big breakfasts and chocolate on the weekends. It was an imperfection that had stuck, and unfortunately, I had never grown out of. Just like people associated red hair and random thoughts of kindness to Lily, I now knew that along with my knack for sarcasm and charming sense of humor, people knew me as the ugly comedian girl. The – dear I say it – fat girl, who, made people laugh. Or, rather, made me people laugh at her.

"Howell's a hoot!" came James Potter once again.

The amount of alcohol in his system was evident in his silly giggle as he tried to get out the words. The boy, in a state of immaturity and confusion, had confirmed my serious prediction about myself.

"She has the Potter sense-of-humor," James added. I could almost imagine him puffing out his chest. To anyone who knew anything about anyone, it was common knowledge that James Potter and I were distantly related. Our mothers have the same grandmother – I think. I, unlike some fifth year girls who have taken an abnormal interest in James Potter, haven't researched it to guarantee such a connection. My parents haven't really mentioned a relation with the Potters, so whatever the connection is, I have never acted on it.

"Yeah. And the looks of a Hippogriff."

Clearly Sirius Black did not speak in words of subtlety. Despite this recognition of his cruel ways, I was still surprised and hurt by his comment. It was the sort that you always knew were uttered, but never heard. It was a horrible form of backstabbing, but at least you weren't consciously aware of it. Sirius Black was the sort that mouthed off and got away with it.

He is a charmer - that is certain. He also has good hair, and very nice arms. With his hollow remarks, he is cold, cruel and heartless – so much so that it threatens to clouds over all good things about him.

I tend to see the best in people; even when they do something horrible. So, naturally, I was a little shocked at Sirius Black. He had always been so…charming. _So_ sickly charming that it astounded me how he managed to get away with it – and how girls, teachers – heck, even ghosts – managed to fall for it time and time again. It was the perfect spell – or jinx – depending how you wanted to look at it. Just one look and a person could be captivated, and deadly allured.

I shivered, and had a semi-debate with myself as to if I wanted to hear anymore. My heart said no, but my ears were tuned in, and even if I wanted to, I doubted I would have been able to draw them away from the door.

"Hogwarts is full with average to semi-ugly girls these days anyway," James Potter was saying, "wit the exception of Evans – and all the quidditch girls – and that one Hufflepuff with the big bonkers – all potential talent left last year."

"So Howell is simply average," suggested Peter Pettigrew. My liking towards Peter Pettigrew increased ever-so slightly. Evidently, his mother had taught him some manners – quite a pleasant uplift in comparison to his stupid friend. Average wasn't exactly a synonym for beautiful, but it was – and I knew – as close as I was going to get.

There was nothing else said about me and my so-called "average" appearance. There was a faint clatter of glass, and the sound of footsteps ascending in volume. I gathered myself and my thoughts together, cupped the crystal class harder than ever, and trooped back upstairs.

I had learnt from my mistakes when coming down where the steps creaked and where they didn't, and had successfully managed to get into my room without making as much as a rasp. My quietness matched my current desire: to be so invisible, that I was barely there at all.

Fifteen minutes later, my bed engulfed me, and by four in the morning, after a lot of tossing, I was asleep. I did not register at the time, nor did I even stop to think, that what I heard could potentially change my life. My reasoning for such ignorance is simple: I would not allow someone else – someone I barely knew – someone I liked only on good days, and partially-detested on most – to have an impact on me.

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Comments? Thoughts?


	2. Chapter 2: An attempt at escaping fate

Sorry, I know this is shockingly overdue. Better late than never?

Anyway, thanks a lot for the amazing reviews; they were great!

This chapter is really long, so I hope it 'eases the pain' of me not updating for so long. I'll try and get chapter three up as soon as humanly possible. =)

Enjoy, and please Review.

* * *

**Chapter Two  
**An Attempt at Escaping Fate

_I think high self-esteem is overrated.  
A little low self-esteem is actually quite good.  
Maybe you're not the best,  
__so you should work a little harder._

That night, sleep was rare to find. Dreams and beams of light encircled me for what seemed like hours on end, until finally, at an unknown time between three and four in the morning, I fell into an uncomfortable sleep. It was a distressing sleep, and when I woke up, I found myself tangled in my sheets, a symbol of my messed up situation. The horrid circumstances were entirely my own fault: I had secured my own unfortunate fate two weeks ago when I signed on to a holiday in the Potter house.

Mrs. Potter's Egyptian sheets laid out especially for visitors were beautiful, but they didn't feel right. I uncoiled myself out of them, and straightened them out as best I could, despite the fact that the maids would be along soon to perfect what I could not.

I opened my blinds to discover that my last morning at the Potter house, and first day of autumn, would be a beautiful one. My view from the third story of the house was nothing short of amazing. I could see the ranges in the distance, and to the left, just before the mountains, was the small village of Godrick's Hollow. Mrs. Potter was in her vegetable garden, and Mr. Potter was walking out the main door with his briefcase. He waved goodbye to his wife from a distance, and apparated from his back yard.

Today, like all the others, reminded me of a photo that belonged on a postcard. Any longer in this house, and I would start to believe that I belonged in this house with the exotic sheets and stunning morning view. The reality of the matter was that I was more your alley wall – dark and dainty – unnoticed sort of girl. Or, the postcard that got picked last, and was a permanent feature on the clearance rack.

I felt dreadful, and even though I had at least a couple of hours sleep under my belt, it felt like I hadn't even rested my eyes. I gazed outside for several moments after Mr. Potter had left, unsure what to do with myself. My strained heart was prepared to admit defeat, but my tough skin exterior had other plans. I would not cry from now on. If I did, everything became real. If I cried, what he had said would mean something; it would have affected me, and we could not, would not, have that.

Amongst my blind-opening and inconsiderate shuffling, I had caused the rising of my roommate. Lily stirred awake, and sat up with a questionable look on her face. I abandoned by intense thoughts for the moment, hoping Lily would distract me.

"What is this unreasonable hour called?" she murmured. He eyes were half-shut, blinded by the early-morning sun.

I smiled at my friend, as she ran her fingers through her hair while searching her nightstand for a comb.

"It's called seven thirty. We have to be out of here by ten."

It took Lily's morning-paced brain a while to come to realization. Today was September the first, and soon, we would be arriving back at Hogwarts for our last year.

Lily sat up in bed, flexing her legs over the side.

"Plans for this morning?" I asked. I knew it was only two and a half hours until we had to be out of here, but I did not doubt that the short time would be used in the most productive manner. I happened to know that Mrs. Potter was deeply regretful that her house was going to be empty again, and no doubt would have something planned. It was also assured that James Potter and friends would want to make the most out of the last few hours of freedom.

There was once a time when I feared Lily's response to my question regarding the day's plans. For the two week duration I had been a visitor at the Potter house, James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew had come up with a day's activities for us to participate in. Exempting yourself from the plan was not an option. So far, I have endured three life-threatening games of quidditch, in which I have feared for the life of my brain – amongst other critical organs. I have ventured up the highest slope of the western ranges, and have even been forced to eat Peter Pettigrew's baking – which I swear nearly killed me.

So, today as I asked what the boy's had planned for our last morning, I was not scared in the slightest. Nothing at all could be worse than a game of quidditch (I was actually improving my skills at flying by now), or mixing flour with sugar (and possibly salt) in an attempt to make the world's 'best' brownies with Pettigrew.

"A big breakfast, apparently – not that we'll need it. We have the feast tonight."

The mention of food, as well as my quick look into the nearest mirror put a stop to my distracted state. I felt suddenly sick, and dreaded leaving the bedroom to confront the boys.

"Sounds fantastic," I lied to Lily.

Lily was out of bed, and giving herself a quick one over. I knew it wasn't for James's sake, but rather for Black, Lupin and Pettigrew, who on our second day here, had found the state of Lily first thing in the morning to be utterly hilarious. The normally collected, cool, and placid Lily Evans was a mess in the morning, and now, her secret was out.

Lily pulled her sleeping bun out, letting her hair dangle nicely against her shoulder blades. She grabbed the nearest comb (Lily and I always took several combs and brushes away with us. There was always a shortage with ones going missing and being misplaced), straightened her hair out and covered herself in her dressing gown.

"Hey, can you take this down with you?" I asked, and passed Lily the crystal cup that I had used last night. I did not need any souvenirs or reminders of last night; I doubted I would forget it anyway.

When Lily gave me a puzzled look, I explained.

"Got thirsty last night."

"Sure thing," she smiled, and departed.

Lily left to greet James good morning, and once again, just like at two this morning, I was left alone with my thoughts. Last night, I hadn't even thought about preparing myself for confrontation today.

This morning, I would endure the company of the four boys until eleven, and if Lily got her way, until the train arrived at Hogwarts. Lily would sit with James at dinner, and unless I found Cameron or Emily before that, I would be left with no choice but to accompany her. I doubted my ability to remain composed for so long. Not helping my self-confidence was the mirror that hung on the wardrobe door.

For someone who had slept restlessly, my hair was more controlled than Lily's had been. My dark-blonde mop was pulled back into a loose tail, with stray fragments coming out around my face. I could only see one of my green eyes. They weren't gleaming, nor were they showing much emotion. My cheeks were just definable behind my puffiness, and my lips full.

I dared myself to observe lower. I could feel my stomach verging over the top of my pajama bottoms, but my over-sized shirt concealed it from the judgmental mirror. The shirt also hid my breasts, something I would have to work on. I liked them. They were a nice shape – just the right amount of perkiness – and not too big. I knew boy's liked them too. They liked them so much, that sometimes, they forget I have a face.

I wished I could hide my legs as easy as my stomach. My thighs reminded me of long tree stumps, which in summer time, presented me with a problem. My collection of knee-length skirts and baggy shorts, too hot to wear in the hot months, are vast, and act as a sort of concealer for my thighs.

I ruffled my hair, and yanked out my ponytail. I messed it around in my hands, and frumped it up a couple of times. The end result was an improvement to the ponytail, and as quickly as the concern had appeared, it vanished; my hair was one of the things I liked about myself. Somehow, and I was unsure how, it always looked presentable. It certainly made up for every thing that I disliked.

I don't consider myself any different from other girls my age – or girls in general. Lily often talks about dying her hair, or chopping it all off – or reducing its boringness. I also know for a fact that she hates her arms, and wishes more than anything that her skin resembled a color that was anything but snow white.

My other friend, Emily, wears high-heals more often than not, and still, she only reaches my shoulders. I keep telling her that being short is tidy and neat, but she won't listen. She thinks her huge hair is the size of a small island, and that her lips are nothing more than two thin lines on her face.

I assume that even beautiful people – like the pretty Holly Dallas, who is the same year at me at school – are self-conscious, or at least have their 'ugly days'.

However, is it really the right of other people to decide when those ugly days are?

Deciding not to admit defeat to the likes of Sirius Black, I distracted myself with my Hogwarts trunk. On top lay my Hogwarts robes, which I would put on in the train. Below them was a pile of clothes I had left out for today. I searched through them, deciding they would not do. I knew it was silly, but I was suddenly horribly self-conscious. Every item of clothing I own, and every style I sported suddenly appeared inadequate.

But for who? Myself? Society? Or Sirius Black?

It didn't matter. I felt inadequate regardless.

I rummaged around until I found the best, and oddly enough the most uncomfortable, items in my possession, and made a mental note to go shopping on the first Hogsmeade trip of the year.

The end result saw me in a pair of straight dark-wash blue jeans, a short-sleeved collared shirt, and a soft pink cardigan over top. I buttoned up the little jumper and picked out my favorite white scarf to wrap around my neck. I would wear my boots for two reasons: they were potentially the most amazing pair of shoes ever, and they didn't fit in my trunk because it was too full.

I combed my hair with a different comb to what Lily had used, did my make up, and was finally ready for confrontation.

No one besides Mrs. Potter and two house elves noticed my appearance as I arrived in the breakfast dining room. The room's floor was fully tiled, painted bright yellow, and had the morning sun. My boots made clanking sounds against the tiles as I walked in. The elves bowed down at me as I strolled past, and I gave them as quick smile. I quite liked not being fussed over in the Potter house. Being able to go about my business unnoticed made me feel like I belonged. It was as if my existence in this house was not out of the ordinary, and for once in my pathetic life, it was as if I fitted in somewhere. It was a shame to know the truth of the matter: I would never fit in; and attempting to do so was foolish.

"Morning, dear," greeted a smiling Mrs. Potter. She was wearing an apron and was carrying a plate of blueberry pancakes. I wasn't even tempted by their aroma; my stomach was about as stable as the Whomping Willow.

"Morning," I smiled, faintly, and waited for her to instruct me what to do. I had been here two weeks today, but still felt like I was intruding. I believed Mrs. Potter knew that too. So, it was with another warm smile and a gentle guiding of her hand that she pointed to an empty chair at the table.

"Lily is just having a shower, and the orange juice will be arriving shortly. Please, begin your breakfast…the others started half an hour ago." Mrs. Potter said, with a small laugh in the direction of the boys who were feasting at the table.

I hid my reluctance and wandered over to the table. It was square, and although there were various free seats, they were all within the same proximity to Sirius Black – not that it mattered. I could be in another room – heck I could be in another house - and he would still manage to make his appearance known.

Remus Lupin started the greetings with a smile. Remus Lupin also finished the greetings, as the three other boys continued their conversation in absolute ignorance. I returned the smile to Lupin, and looked down, distracting myself with the edge of the tablecloth. I got a small kick out of seeing the look of the boys: Obviously they were sleep deprived.

"Plans for our first night back tonight?" began Peter Pettigrew once Mrs. Potter had returned to the kitchen, well out of earshot. She had never taken lightly to James Potter's mishaps.

Peter had come off worst; there were actual dark rings around his bright blue eyes, and his breakfast consisted solely of coffee and dry toast.

"Sleep?" muttered Lupin, and I grinned.

"Not a chance," said Potter and Black together.

I zoned out of the conversation when I lost track of what was being said. The boys had begun speaking in a code incoherent to me. I picked at my fruit, wasting time. I figured if I looked busy with my breakfast, no one would feel as if they needed to include me in their conversations. This wasn't the first time I had been alone with one of the boys, but it felt like it. They all seemed so absorbed in their own lives to even notice the likes of me – which was perfectly fine. After last night, the less attention the better.

In almost unison with my thoughts, Sirius Black addressed me.

"Do you have plans for tonight?" he asked.

Before I even took in what he had said, I had a debate in my head as to if he could actually read my mind, and therefore know that I actually quite liked being excluded, and thought for the sake of it, that he would include me anyway.

He wore a stupid-looking grin, and was staring at me directly from across the table. For someone who hadn't slept, and had been drinking, the usual hangover symptoms were not apparent on his face. Actually, he looked remarkably handsome for such an early hour of the morning. I wondered what it would take for him to look bad. Like myself, he was in a collared shirt with a jumper overtop, and was looking colorful in his Gryffindor striped scarf. I knew his rugged hairstyle was all natural, and knew he wore it as a favor to James. The boys had a theory that if Sirius's hair looked rugged too, James's wouldn't look so bad.

My mouth formed ten different formations before I could reply, and I knew I looked more stupid than Black's grin. It was horrible that I cared so much about his opinion of me; however I didn't linger on that regretful feeling. I was now old enough to know that regret was much the same as other feelings: they could not be helped, nor prevented.

"I imagine a lot of unpacking," I muttered, lamely, for I did not want to lie, "and catching up with my friends."

"Unpacking has never been my forte. Perhaps I should learn how to do it - properly." The trouble was Sirius Black sounded truly genuine as he spoke. However, not for a split second did I forget last night. Apparently, he had though. He spoke with such friendliness that if I myself did not respond with equal enthusiasm, it would be offensive.

It was lucky that Lily arrived when she did, because I was not sure how to counter Black. I was torn between two evils: the evil of ignoring the issue, and letting him walk over me without telling him what he had done. Or the evil of exclaiming what I had heard, and exposing Black's nasty side.

"I sure am going to miss those showers," commented Lily, as she strolled in. I was embarrassed to see she had chosen a similar attire to me: jeans, a collared top, and a cardy – only hers was deep blue, and somehow, everything looked ten times better on her than it did on me, "morning everyone," she greeted, while I had an internal panic-attack.

"You're right; the showers are good at Hogwarts, but nothing beats the feeling of home," Potter began. He ushered Lily over to his side of the table, and pulled out a chair for her. She smacked his hand as he did so, and gave him a look that suggested she was quite capable of sitting herself down. Nevertheless, she smiled fondly at him, and I knew she loved that he was a gentleman.

"I almost forgot – you lot have it worse than the prefects. I did notice a difference in water pressure," said Lupin, who gave Lily a wink.

Lily had once taken me to the prefect's bathroom when I had a cold last year. She said the best cure was to take a long bath, and to do that, I had to bath in the prefect's bathroom. It was to date, sadly, the best experience of my life. The entire room had been much like Mrs. Potter's hallway – royal with an Ancient Rome vibe to it.

"I am so jealous," I remember uttering in absolute awe upon entering the bathroom.

"This is why I didn't want to take you here – if you didn't know what you were missing out on, you wouldn't miss it," explained Lily, with a laugh.

"If I had of known, I would have tried harder at becoming prefect! It truly is my own fault," I had replied, grinning.

"The prefect's bathroom is pretty top notch," winked Lily. She stole the ends of James's toast, and began to eat, "I wonder what the head's bathroom is like! It must be brilliant – knowing Dumbledore."

"Does anyone know where it is?" asked Peter Pettigrew. His eyes were wide with curiosity. While he awaited a response, he shoveled in a fork full of bacon.

Black and Potter shared a glance.

"We will find out," they said in unison. I hated it when they said that.

"I wonder who the head students are anyway," Lupin said.

"You sound hopeful, Moony," grinned Black.

Remus frowned. "Most definitely not! I think Dumbledore would have to be out of his mind to appoint me. We all know my prefect appointment had a secret agenda."

"He was asking the impossible; don't blame yourself, Moony," laughed James.

Lily and I didn't doubt that part of the reason Dumbledore had made Lupin prefect was indeed to influence his friends. Of course, it is not the only reason; Lupin is brilliant, and anyone who isn't solely focused on Potter and Black knows it. I admire his modesty in transfiguration and that how every time I ask him how well he did on a test, he will smile shyly and mutter out an "outstanding" or "exceeds expectations". I also love how dreadful he is in Potions – we share a common hate for Potions. Actually, come to think of it, I think I share a common hate for Potions with the majority of seventh year – minus Lily, who thrives like one of those unusual plants that hate sunlight down in the dungeons.

More critical than his academic success, Lupin is kind. However, I am unsure about the accuracy of my statement: is Lupin genuinely a nice boy, or is he only nice when compared to Black? Of course, at the moment, I ranked Filch and Peeves as nicer than Black.

Lily looked hurt from across the table at the mention of the head girl and boy positions. I knew she was still upset that there had been no head girl badge in her Hogwarts letter this year.

"Maybe there's a mistake? Maybe, um, Dumbledore forgot?" I had suggested to her three weeks ago, when our letters had arrived.

"It's McGonagall who sends them out! I don't think the woman knows _how_ to forget!" Lily had shot back, close to hysterics.

I had been stumped, and hoped whoever did get the badge was at least a Gryffindor. As for the head boy, my prediction had been Benjamin Howards. Naturally, a Gryffindor, and what my mother epitomizes as "marriage material".

"I pity the poor man who gets the badge," James was saying between mouthfuls of toast, "Not only do you have to deal with teachers and bratty first years, but imagine the uptight head girl! She's got to be bonkers, surely."

I swallowed a large amount of orange juice, and gave Lily a sympathetic look from across the table. She rolled her eyes at James, and gave me a look that told me she was slowly getting over not being appointed.

"Being a prefect is hard enough," Lily admitted, grinning slightly.

"I bet the perks make it a tad easier," I replied, and gave her a proud smile.

Lily's eyebrows shot up, "want to swap?" she suggested, quickly. I shook my head, still grinning; my extra curricular activities weren't large. I was a member of the Astronomy Club, and knew that this year; I would potentially be the leader of that club. I also tutored first and second years in Charms and Astronomy – my best subjects. It wasn't much: I didn't get a special bathroom, but I loved it all the same.

The Ministry cars, owned by Mr Potter's office were black and shiny. The tinted glass was a cruel mirror, and while our trunks were being loaded, and while Black and Potter scurried around for the last of their belongings that they had not yet packed, I stood stationary, and surveyed myself in the only way I knew how: critically.

I will come clean about one of my vices. I am, without choice, embarrassingly so, obsessed with my appearance. It is odd, as this is the one thing that unites me, and aligns me with beautiful girls the world over. I do all the classic things: seek mirrors, fondle over make up and hair pieces, and spend a large proportion of my time looking at my behind in my favorite pair of jeans. The fatal difference separating myself from the beautiful – slightly shallow – girls is that I do not have a choice in the matter, and instead of looking for beauty, I seek interest in my flaws. It's been apparent since childhood, and as I progress through my teenage years, it's like a daunting shadow: something that's stuck with me, and like a mirror, reflects exactly who I am.

It all started when I was five, and was put into my first wizarding pre-school. I was lucky enough to start school on the same week as class photos. Every girl and boy in my class was shorter than me by what felt like tens of inches. I was placed in the centre of my photo. I wondered if my teacher at the time, Mrs. Tally, had done it on purpose – just to make me feel all that more uncomfortable. That was also the first time I got called "fat". Maggie Ginnes had been the culprit. In her typical bossy tone, she began organizing her classmates. "Okay, skinniest goes in the front rows. Oh Rachel," she had uttered, approaching me, "you can go in the back row with the other fat people."

It happened quickly, and the aftermath of it lasted a lot longer. If it had of been physical abuse, the scar would remain to this day. I was mortified, and for a five year old girl, not crying in such a situation was difficult. Instead of sobbing, I diverted all energy into doing what I would become renounced for: pretending it had never happened.

Five years later, when I turned ten, pretending had got me a long way. The insults kept coming, and as I aged, their brutality increased. It appeared that kids got crueler, and I remember wishing to have five-year old Maggie Ginnes back. Her comment could almost pass for lack of vocabulary. To a five year old (except myself, who was fatally aware of the difference between tall and fat even when I was five), the two words were like synonyms. Ten year olds could not get away with such.

Upon entering the scary world of tween-dom, the remarks became sophisticated, and were touched with an air of sarcasm. Ever since, sarcasm has been ruined for me. Ten was when I really began to notice mirrors. Of course, I had always known what they were, and that they showed a reflection but from ten onwards, I looked beyond their simple usage. I became obsessed with them, and saw them everywhere: shiny muggle appliances, water reflections, car windows, house windows. Heck, I used to love how my reflection in a spoon made my face look thin.

By second year of Hogwarts, I hated mirrors. In them, I saw my huge feet, my awkward legs, my round belly, and my floppy upper arms. Later on – much later on – I knew it was not mirrors I hated, but rather myself. I simply detested mirrors for showing me such hatred, and for creating a lineage of bad self-esteem that exists still today.

My reflection in the ministry car was shocking. I had two chins, and immediately, began moving my jaw to disclose them. My upper arms were concealed by my cardigan, but my legs resembled tree stumps. Despite the reflection, I continued to stare. I had a theory that if I gazed long enough, something would change.

It did. Lily joined me in the reflection. I snapped out of my self-involvedness, and turned to her. She was grinning.

"Are you okay, Rach?" she asked me.

Even with her squinty eyes, Lily looked lovely in the sunlight.

"Of course," I replied. I didn't constitute that as a lie, because if it was, I have been lying my entire life, "we're heading home!" I added, much more cheerily, because Lily didn't appear convinced.

Turns out, my journey back to Hogwarts was perhaps the longest one yet. I was one of the last to get on the train. Going from six years of being efficient and organized, and being one of the first on the train, it was a shock to be amongst the late and lazy. I moved passed groups of giggling girls who thought it was hip to stand in the corridor and gossip instead of finding a compartment, and groups of second years, who were now past the awkward first year stage, and thought they were straight descendants from one of the Hogwarts discoverers. The cheeky girls and second years reminded me a lot of the four boys I had just escaped. They were, of course, the reason I was so late at boarding in the first place.

It had looked promising; we had arrived at the station an entire fifteen minutes early. Mrs. Potter walked with a slow elegance; we were so prepared that we could all go through the barrier one at a time, and not the usual "group clutter" as Remus Lupin had described it.

The platform had been bustling, and in the mid-morning's high humidity, large groups of people was the last thing I felt like. Mrs. Potter soon discovered a group of parents who were familiar, and hurried over to join in their conversation.

"Get your trunks on the train, won't be a moment!" she yelled out as she trotted towards a group of adults who all looked overly prestigious.

The boys, especially James, who I noticed made sure he was always on his best behavior in front of his mother (particularly in public) took Mrs. Potter's absence as an opportunity. They managed to dispose of their trunks with an unfair amount of ease with James using a levitating spell. Feeling stupid that I wasn't yet seventeen, I asked Lily to do mine for me when the boy's weren't listening.

I secured my satchel on my shoulders, and set off down the platform. I walked in the shadow of the four boys, and Lily, who was holding hands with James. I wasn't much of an analyzer, and normally, I didn't care too much about other people around me, but the sight my eyes were glued to had me fixated. I could not turn away, because honestly, I did not want to. All I could imagine was a red carpet, with bars on either side patrolling off the public. Tides of people seemed to retreat as the four boys and Lily walked down the platform like five religious-god-like figures.

I felt shockingly awkward and pretended to be interested in Lupin's sweater as I walked directly behind him and Pettigrew. My awkwardness was irrelevant; no one noticed me. I didn't take it too personally, for at the current, I doubted students would notice if the Minister of Magic himself appeared on the platform. All eyes were on the closest thing to royalty Hogwarts had.

James Potter walked with a sense of coolness. The combination of his tussled hair, height, and broad shoulders made him look like a Greek God that belonged on the ceilings of old cathedrals. As he passed people, his arm moved from Lily's hand to around her waist. He pulled her close, whispered something in her ear which made her laugh, and then returned to his typical stance: tall and broad, with his doubtless piercing gaze and lip-curling school-boy smile that sent girls into a giddy frenzy. The evidence of such giddiness was evident, and on behalf of the female population, I was embarrassed.

My sweet Lily walked with grace and innocence. She fitted nicely along James's side, and when they stopped and embraced, there was a huge smile on her face. I slowed to a dawdle and watched as other seventh year girls watched on, some with envy, others with admiration and affection. I myself was torn between a repulsive sickening in my gut and a prickle in my heart that made my face soften and my mouth exhale with a soft sigh.

Remus Lupin looked approachable and warm with his shy smile and light-brown mousy hair. He was walking with Pettigrew, laughing at something the blonde boy was saying. He was shorter than Potter and Black, but taller than Pettigrew; in my eyes, the perfect height. He looked wary and tired, despite the summer vacation he had taken, and showed no sign of the crowd he and his friends had attracted.

Peter Pettigrew was a poster-boy dream with his bright blue eyes of innocence and cute schoolboy looks. He complimented his taller friends nicely. He stood out, but unlike myself, he belonged despite this. Peter waved at a few people as he walked by, and as he turned, I could see his gleaming smile of pleasure.

Sirius Black defied all expectations. He walked behind Potter and Lily, but behind Pettigrew and Lupin, and like the king, was surrounded by his people. It didn't matter that was immune to it. His satchel was around his body, and his white shirt showed no sign of sweat or that the weather was getting to him. Only on one occasion did I see his head turn. It was ever-so-slight, and if I hadn't been surveying him, I would have missed the whole thing. His head titled to the left, where two middle-aged adults stood with a young boy, who could only have been his brother. The boy, whose name was absent in my mind, had Sirius Black's haircut and charming pure-blood appearance. He however lacked any form of warmth and his grey eyes, much like his brothers, were shallow and lifeless. The two adults, who I guessed to be Black's parents, looked equally as sinister, especially the woman. The three Blacks gave all six of us a scowling glance as we passed. Once our group had passed the family of Black, Sirius's light swagger and lightness returned.

We continued walking until the front of the train approached, which was where Lily and Lupin had to go. I could already see plenty of empty carriages, and was delighted at the thought of having a compartment that was not with Black, Potter or Pettigrew. We were so close to boarding, until a disruption arose from behind us.

Sirius's brother shot out from behind our group, and marched in front of us. He walked with a sense of royalty, as if he were a member of the nobility. From the proud look on his mothers face, it was as if she too, believed the boy to be of noble descent. Once he had proved his point – that he wasn't afraid nor intimidated by seventh year students – I assumed he would board the train and be done with it. I, of course, was too optimistic in my thoughts. The boy, who looked no older than a fifth year, came to a stop directly in front of Sirius. Sirius's height and age was evident when the boys stood parallel, but the younger brother did not turn away.

I shot out from behind Lupin, and stood at Lily's side. Together, our group formed a single line. We all gazed at the younger Black, and waited for someone to speak.

"Bugger off, Black," said Potter, finally.

It appeared Potter's remark did not work, and in fact, had the opposite effect; Mr and Mrs. Black approached.

"Move along, Regulus; do not associate with this Potter scum," shot Mrs. Black. Her eyes focused on James, who showed no indication of backing down. Mrs. Black was a tall, stern woman with broad shoulders and long, curly black hair; but, it was her eyes and crocked nose that startled me. She had little beetle eyes, but despite their small size and boring black coloring, they stood out, and frightened me – which, I believed, was the intended effect.

Regulus let out a short laugh, "at least Potter's got the blood; can't say the same about his mudblood girlfriend. It's no surprise, really; a mudblood is the best Potter can get."

Several things happened at once in response to Regulus Black. Both James and Sirius withdrew their wands at a rapid speed. James's was pointing at Regulus and Sirius's at his mother. Mrs. Black let out a loud shriek of disgust, grabbed Regulus's shoulder and yanked him back, so he stood in-between his mother and father. Lupin and Pettigrew stood back, and yanked Lily and I with them. I appreciated Remus's grab; if he hadn't, I would still be standing in the middle of what was now the battleground, too fascinated by the Black family to bother moving out of harms way.

"James?" Mrs. Potter had excellent timing; there was no way James or Sirius would have attacked Regulus while he was in-between both parents. Immediately, James and Sirius snapped their wands away, and departed towards Mrs. Potter, who was scowling.

"It's not what it looks like," began James, immediately. Sirius stood next to him, apparently engrossed with his shirt's cuffs.

Mrs. Potter simply grimaced, and raised her hand, silencing James.

"He called Lily a mudblood!" continued James, despite his mother's hand.

Mrs. Potter scowled, "that does not constitute raised wands, James. You can't do that every time someone says that awful word," she told her son, and then in a much softer tone, she turned to Lily, "are you okay, dear?"

"Of course; it's fine," muttered Lily, flushed.

"It is not!" interjected James, before Mrs. Potter, or Lily, could say anything else.

For Merlin's sake, James, cut it out. What else did you expect?" Mrs. Potter continued, in an attempt for her son to see reason, "now," she added, changing the subject, "the school year has officially started – and not to a good start, I might add. James, I want no more letters from McGonagall this year."

James, who was still infuriated with the Black family, nodded curtly. He kissed his mother goodbye, and began to walk away.

"And please remember to feed your owl! I do not want your father having to take him to the hospital again!" Mrs. Potter yelled.

"Thanks, Mrs. Potter," muttered Sirius, who was still scowling. Mrs. Potter nodded and smiled.

"No problem, dear; you know you are always welcome," she replied. She gave Black a short nod of encouragement, and turned back to her son, who was about to board the train, "do get Lily to cut your hair, dear! It looks so silly when it dangles in your eyes!" Mrs. Potter yelled after her son, who conveniently appeared to have not heard her request.

"Thanks for having us," I thanked James's mum, who smiled fondly at Lily and I.

"It was an absolute pleasure," she replied.

Lily and I headed off to board the train, passing the scary Mrs. Black as we did so. team appeared at the glass window, and with a rumble and a thud, the Hogwarts express took off.

I left Lily at the front of the train, and took off down the corridor. By the time I had weaved my way through the giggling girls and second years, I was near the end of the train, and had successfully lost Black, Potter and Pettigrew. As I passed compartments, I looked into each one, hoping to find my friends – or at the least, friendly people.

Being unsuccessful at finding my two friends, I took a seat in one of the end compartments. Perhaps my friends had been later than me, and missed the train all together – I certainly wouldn't have put it past Emily to do that. Emily always liked to be fashionable late, and the rest of the time, she was actually running late.

My chosen compartment already had two other girls in it, who ignored me as I took a seat nearest the door. They looked to be about third year, and I wondered if they were friends with the groups of girls I had shoved out of the way beforehand. They certainly looked the type. Nevertheless, I smiled warmly at them, and pretended to be interested in the rolling hills outside the window.

"Anyway," spoke one of the girls, continuing their conversation before I had interrupted, "the beaches were amazing. White sand and everything," the girl bragged.

"Cute boys?" the other girl asked, hopefully.

"Caitlin, its France. What do you think?" replied the first girl.

I sat in envy, comparing my own summer. I had no beaches, no south France, and no cute boys. Heck, I hadn't even had fancy baguettes. Even before my trip to the Potter House, my summer had been less than average.

I searched for a distraction in my satchel, and pulled out my new Astronomy textbook. There was loud banging from the compartment in front of us, and I found myself focusing mainly on the pictures, not the words. The two girls, who I had overheard the names of – Polly and Caitlin – continued talking, now about Hogwarts.

"We have Hogsmeade to look forward to this year," said Polly, who had deep brown hair and a shockingly dark tan that I assumed to be a souvenir from her France trip.

"And our new classes," added Caitlin, who appeared far more excited about the classes than Hogsmeade. The girl had sandy brown hair, dark green eyes, and must have been half my height – or rather, half my size.

I turned to the page on Jupiter's largest moon, and didn't get past the first sentence. I imagined myself apart of the girl's conversation, and pondered what I looked forward to. The instant thought was getting out of Hogwarts, but when I thought about it some more, that was a lie. I loved school; it was some of the people in the castle that I had difficulty contending with.

I relaxed against the padded back rest in the compartment, and rested my book on my knees, which were resting on the opposite bench. I guess the only thing I really was looking forward to had arrived: I was away from Sirius Black and friends, and that was how it would remain. I had never had a lot to do with any of them at school, except for perhaps Remus Lupin, who shares my hobby of complaining about Potions at every opportunity. The boys and I ran in different circles around school, hardly ever overlapping.

The banging from the other compartment increased in decibels, and I gave up on reading.

"You know, Hogsmeade really is great," I told the two girls, very happily. My mood had ascended, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Really?" Caitlin asked. After spending half an hour with the girls, I definitely liked her the best.

"Three Broomsticks is superb, and Honeydukes isn't bad either," I added. My stomach turned at the thought of sugar-filled Honeydukes candy, and without even trying, I was reminded of Sirius black and his comment.

"I heard Madam Puddifoot's tea shop is also good," said Polly.

"Hmmm," I muttered. I grinned, and decided it was best to not disagree with Polly.

The banging continued, louder than ever.

"What the hell is that?" Polly demanded, angrily.

I shook my head, dumbstruck.

Fifteen minutes later and my anger matched that of Polly's.

"You're a seventh year; can't you _do_ something?" Polly yelled. I barely heard her over the noise.

"I'm not seventeen!" I yelled back, feeling useless.

Ten minutes later, and Polly's hisses and tutting were worse than the banging. The girl sat with her legs crossed, and every ten seconds would turn in my direction and make a series of coughing noises. Finally, I nodded curtly at her, and swiftly, went to investigate. It was probably the second years that I had shoved, coming back for their revenge.

I stormed out of my compartment with rapid speed, too eager to see the last of Polly. In an act of rage, quite uncommon for me, who never sought confrontation of any kind; I swung the neighboring compartment door open. Before the door had even fully opened, I began yelling.

"Can you cut it out! Unless you're launching a rocket for space in here, there really is no excuse!" I shrieked.

The banging stopped abruptly, and my sense of hearing returned to me. I saw a light wave of smoke, which vanished with a quick flick of a wand. Behind the smog were three boys, all of them wide-eyed and shocked.

When Sirius Black opened his mouth, my legs became immobile, and in such a critically embarrassing moment, I could not run away.

"And we were all beginning to think you are some kind of mute; clearly – _clearly_ we were wrong," Black stated, in his most commonly used tongue: sarcasm. He waved the last of the smog towards the window, grinning broadly as he did so.

"Well I'm not," I muttered, flustered.

Dammit. Dammit. I couldn't even last until the feast without seeing them.

"We're experimenting," explained Pettigrew, who shared Black's shock. I hated it, but I understood their position. I had been a mute for those two weeks in summer. One stupid, tiny comment by one stupid ignorant male had silenced me; I felt ashamed and silly, but I couldn't help it. Ignoring it was a lot easier than even beginning to deal with its consequences, which were too real for my liking. I would not, could not, admit that perhaps, just maybe, the remark had hurt – just a little bit.

"With exploding snap games," elaborated Potter, who looked entertained by the situation.

"It was Sirius's idea," added Pettigrew. I bet it was, I thought, "apparently 14 corresponding games of exploding snap is noisy."

"Apparently?" I asked, imitating Black's sarcasm.

"And creates smoke," laughed Black. Pettigrew and Potter sniggered.

I rolled my eyes when none of them were looking, "well, I'm sitting with two third year girls who are under the impression they're the Queens of the train, which I'm sure you can understand, is horrible to deal with on a six hour journey. So please – _please_, can the experimentation stop." I was almost shaking as I spoke my request, because honestly, I had never been so blunt with anyone before in my entire life – the only exception being my shoving of the people in the corridor, and on numerous occasions, my mother.

I ignored my shaking, and tried to form a blunt facial expression. I knew without the use of a mirror that I had failed. My face shape was all wrong for starters. I didn't have a sharp jaw; instead, it was curved, and I knew all my angry faces brought about a small double chin, so quickly, I dropped my blunt stare. Secondly, my sensitive eyes were watering due to the smog. So, what was meant to be a somewhat threatening face (I was going for a Minerva McGonagall stare for I knew that was something Sirius Black feared), turned out to be a double-chinned sad face. I tutted in a very Polly type of fashion, and forfeited, preying at least one of the boy's would take pity on me, and allow me to return to my Astronomy book in peace.

"Erg, third year girls are the absolute worst," commented Sirius Black.

I shot him a look, and for an unexplainable reason, I was offended. I was aware of my rant about Polly and Caitlin just moment ago, and that at the current, I wanted to throttle them – especially Polly, but not so long ago, I had been a third year girl too. Additionally, if we're being completely honest, in third year, I could have probably matched Polly in tutting and other general annoying deep-throat noises common of third year girls.

"Yes, well, goodbye," I muttered, hastily. Before any of them could open their mouths, I exited the compartment, and slammed their door shut. I hopped back into my neighboring compartment, and sat back down.

"Well?" Polly asked. She tutted again, and I sighed. Apparently the tutting was here to stay. I almost wished for Black and company to resume their exploding snap again; at least it drowned out Polly a little bit.

"Just some boys being well…boys," I explained, shortly, not wanting to enter conversation about Sirius Black or his friends. Quickly, I withdrew my astronomy book and opened it, hoping Polly and Caitlin will get the hint.

"What boys?" asked Polly, while Caitlin giggled.

"I don't know," I lied, for I knew Polly and Caitlin would find nothing more attractive than three seventh year boys, "believe me, you're better off with those French boys you were discussing," I advised. I flicked through the pages of my book, until I found something on Jupiter, which was by far, my favorite planet.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" asked Caitlin.

I focused very hard on the image of Jupiter's red spot, and pondered for a long time about lying. What were the chances of me seeing these girls again after today? After all, daydreaming and fantasizing had always been a talent of mine; coming up with a fake boyfriend, for me, was a somewhat useless talent.

"No," I said, choosing the moral option, although silently admitting that lying would have been much more fun.

"Oh, okay," answered Caitlin.

Finally, the two girls allowed me to return to my book – not that I was concentrating. Polly managed to control herself for an entire twenty minutes without tutting. Her first moan occurred when Caitlin admitted to having a crush on a second year Hufflepuff boy. After that, Polly lost all control as Caitlin elaborated on the boy – David someone. Apparently dating a younger boy was "suicide by social regulation" as Polly creatively put it.

I was on the verge of laughter at Polly's expense, when our compartment door opened. I preyed to Merlin it was one of my friends here to save me, and was left disappointed.

Peter Pettigrew stood in the doorway, grinning. He smelt like burnt paper, which I knew was from the exploding snap cards.

"Hey there, girls; Rachel," he greeted us. I moaned under my breath, and slammed my astronomy book shut.

"What is it, Pettigrew," I asked, politely. I didn't mind Pettigrew as much, and remembered back to that fateful night when he had somewhat stood up for me by calling me average. It wasn't much, and I was still unsure if it was a compliment, but I appreciated it. He was at least, polite.

"Why don't you come join us in our compartment? Lily and Remus will be returning soon."

My chest tightened, and I did some quick calculations in my head. We still a good few hours left of the journey. Two hours didn't seem much, but as an add-on to the two weeks I had already endured, the chances of my murdering my best friend's boyfriend, or his friends, was very high, and for their safety – and my sanity – I thought of the best way to politely decline.

I waited, and looked like a fool as I did, for an excuse – any excuse to crop to mind. When nothing came, I admitted defeat, and shut my eyes, mentally preparing myself for what I had just signed on for.

"Sounds fantastic," I lied.

"We'll come!" said Polly, jumping up from her seat.

Now there was an idea. Polly and Caitlin could join the imbeciles, and I could rest in the empty compartment with my book – in absolute bliss. I smiled hopefully at Pettigrew.

"Only enough room for one," replied Pettigrew. Polly remained standing, unable to see the issue. She only sat down when Caitlin yanked her, clearly not wanting to be left behind with me.

"Well," I said to Polly and Caitlin, "see you around," although I was going from bad to worse – from cold to arctic - from smoke to the fire – I was glad to see the back of Polly.

Once I was back in the company of Potter, Pettigrew and Black, I was not against the idea of me riding on the roof of the train, or even being dangled out of the window. I suddenly felt empathy for the people I had pushed about in the corridor; perhaps all of them were also avoiding riding with Potter and company.

I sound dramatic, and probably a little insane. The question of my sanity crossed my mind when I had a short daydream about jumping out the compartment window. It was silly – pathetic even – to be so worked up about my situation. It was only three boys; they were next to harmless, and I hoped if I remained silent, and didn't bring too much attention upon myself, I would remain unnoticed, and the boys, as self-absorbed as they were, would go about their business.

For ten entire minutes I worked myself up into a positive state of mind, and focused on arriving at Hogwarts, and started classes. The difficulty came when I tried to find humor in Sirius Black's comment. Black was immature; that could not be helped. He was an overgrown child, what could I possibly expect? While I will be the first to admit to my double chin, and my huge thighs, and even my stomach that makes me question if I'll ever feel good wearing jeans, I will not come clean to me resembling a hippogriff. For starters, that would require me having feathers – and a beak – and wings. I grinned at the mental image of me flapping my arms about in an attempt to look like one, and was glad that even if it was short-lived, and sort of bittersweet, that I could find temporary humor in the situation.

My optimism vanished when Sirius Black opened his mouth, and I was reminded of his existence.

"What's keeping Moony? I bet it is Evans. Woman," he commented, and peered out the compartment window, as if expending to see Lupin and Lily standing there.

I scanned my wristwatch, and silently agreed.

"They're probably in a meeting," I suggested, for I hadn't spoken for the last half an hour.

When no one paid me any mind, I opened my book and began reading the glossary. Each segment was short, which meant I didn't have to focus on keeping my attention for too long. Besides, I knew most of the words from last year.

"Reading before classes start?" Pettigrew asked, with raised eyebrows.

"Astronomy has lots of…um, terms," I lied, unsure why I was fibbing.

I continued reading, afraid to move anything besides my eyes. I was quite content being excluded from the conversation. It meant me keeping my mouth shut, which put a stop to anymore embarrassing statements on my behalf. It also diverted all attention from the awkwardness of the situation; here I was, socializing (if you could call it that; I guess it's more intruding via invitation) with three boys whose link to me was currently busy in a meeting or patrolling the train. In my six years of schooling, prior to this summer, I do believe the three boys, combined, have spoken no more than a couple of full conversations to me. It is also reasonable of me to believe they did not fully know exactly who I was until second year. In first year, I seriously did consider changing my name to "Lily Evan's friend/room mate".

With no more than an hour left of our journey, our compartment door slid open. My two friends stood in the archway. The two of them, who had contrasting appearances, were both panting. My theory of them missing the train popped back into mind, and vanished as quickly as it had come: never before had I been so relieved to see them. Upon seeing who my company was, their eyebrows shot up, and they both grinned. I jumped up so fast, that I banged my head on the bag rack above me. It didn't bother me, and I barely felt the throbbing of my head. I moved like an over-sized snitch, and headed for the door. My friends moved out of the way, and as I greeted my freedom, I wavered my hand at the three boys in a weak attempt at saying farewell – for forever, if I had my way.

"Adios," I felt like saying to them, "the next time we run into each other, even if it is decades from now, will still be too soon." If I was more like my friend Cameron, perhaps that is exactly what I would have said. Unfortunately, my inner gut was smaller than a sickle coin, and about as powerful as a hinky-puff.

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" I asked my friends, once in the corridor. My voice was stern with anger, with a strong, relieved quiver after each word.

Not bothering to wait for a response, I led my friends down the corridor until we found a compartment that accommodated all three of us. It wasn't difficult; I picked one that only had two younger students in it. I figured by their nervous expression that they were first years.

"Ahh," I sighed, relief overwhelming me. Without sounding dramatic, I felt like a freed prisoner of Azkaban who had just smelt fresh air for the first time in ten years – or you know, two weeks and a couple of hours.

My two friends – Cameron and Emily – exchanged a concerned look.

"So, what happened?" I asked again, in a calmer tone.

"We've been near the front. First we ran into Lily and Lupin, and caught up with them. Then we tried to find you, but gave up halfway down the train, and well, anyway – we found you in the end," explained Cameron, whose weak apology was signed off with a charming smile.

Cameron had never been one to apologize. My roommate, renowned for her quick-wit and long list of come-backs relaxed back against her seat, and studied me. If I was a hippogriff like Black believes, my feathers would have been all over the place, muddled into distressed knots. Despite my obvious uneasy look, Cameron didn't ask, which is perhaps the thing I both love and hate about her. Sometimes the only thing one person needs is for someone not to ask what is wrong, but most of the time, that is the one thing that a person longs for.

"Anyway, how are you?" asked Emily, in her usual cheery voice. My friend, who I also roomed with, squeezed my hand and smiled. I was glad to see the humidity had gotten to her too. Emily's curly chestnut brown hair, which had patches of black through it – remains of her 'black' phase was nothing short of an afro. The girl kept it out of her face with one of her many headbands, believing if she couldn't see it, it didn't matter. I knew only too well the first piece of magic she would perform once inside the castle walls would be a smoothing hair charm. Emily's proudest accomplishment was conquering the charm in first year. Her second proudest moment was teaching it to all of us, and knowing something kind of useful that Lily didn't already know

"I'm good – great, now, actually," I said, only half-lying, "nothing too much to report since my last letter," I added. My last letter to Emily had been upon my departure from home before I went to the Potter house.

"So the Potter's was boring then?" Cameron asked. Cameron's straight hair had a headband in it, similar to Emily. It was sort of our thing that we had inherited from Emily. The only difference is Cameron and I don't wear headbands to control our crazy hair.

"Pretty much," I admitted, "although don't tell Lily that."

"I bet she had a blast," grinned Emily.

"Oh, she did," I nodded, and couldn't help but grin at the thought of Lily. While I had spend days thinking of all the places I would rather have been (home – Hogwarts – London – Diagon Alley – heck, a graveyard), Lily was in her dream location, and that, to me, made my bad times worth it.

The remainder of my journey was more than pleasant, and for the first time in two weeks, Sirius Black, my double chin, and hippogriffs were the last things on my mind; and I would do everything in my power to keep it that way. Plan number one was already mapped out in my mind: avoid mirrors at all costs.

I looked down at my knees, smiling to myself. As a bonus, I doubted I would see a hippogriff all year, and I had a faint hope that I wouldn't see Sirius Black for so long that perhaps I will forget what he looks like, and how he manages to transform even the simplest of sentences into a sarcastic battlefield.

* * *

P.S Thoughts? I'm not 100% about this chapter, but after over-analyzing it for the past ten days, I decided to post it. It sounds horribly clichéd to say, but I guess it's sort of 'setting the stage' for future chapters. Anyway, excuse my ramblings. Hope you all enjoyed regardless.

P.P.S HUGE hello to Leila; thanks for reviewing, Lovely.


	3. Chapter 3: Half Identity

**Sorry again for the delay! On the plus side, I've finished my exams and have summer approaching, so I should get a lot more time to write.  
Thanks HEAPS for the awesome reviews from the last chapter! Your feedback and comments were very much appreciated. =)  
Now, onto chapter three: This was the hardest chapter to write, so forgive me if it's too jumpy or all over the place. It's sort of the final chapter before things start to...go wrong. =)  
P.S - I saw Deathly Hallows the night before last at the midnight screening. It was great! I loved how the dialogue was like, directly out of the book. Hahaha. **

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* * *

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**Chapter Three  
**A Half Identity 

_A mirror will show you one thing and one thing only: what you want to see. _

The Hogwarts Great Hall was dotted with students in black robes. Crammed on our house tables were mountains of mashed potato, towers of chicken drums, and streams of pumpkin juice. I happened to be strategically situated between a particularly high peak of mashed potato, and a bacon and egg pie. The combination of pie and potato soothed my jittery stomach, if only for a while. For the first time in two weeks, I ate like a normal person would. My spoon acted like a shovel, as I crammed carbohydrates into my mouth. I didn't fuss about drinking too much pumpkin juice, or even about clinking my cutlery against my plate, as I had done in the Potter household.

I was interrupted right before I was about to start dessert, which perhaps isn't such a bad thing. Dumbledore had risen from his seat. It took only a single cough for the aged man to get the attention of the entire hall. I looked on, curiously; he had always waited for dinner and dessert to finish before he addressed his students.

"I beg your pardon, and ask for your attention before you begin dessert. I have one important announcement," Dumbledore announced. I gave Cameron a short, confused look.

"Maybe someone's died?" she suggested, bleakly.

"The appointment of the head boy and girl has been delayed this year, and due to a number of…unforeseen circumstances, they have yet to be announced."

There was a quiet buzz around the room. I almost rose from my seat to get a good look at Lily, but by craning my neck uncomfortably, I was able to achieve the same result. Lily was several seats down with James; I wished for a camera; the hope on her face was almost heartbreaking.

I caught her eye, and muttered, "Apparently McGonagall makes mistakes."

"I apologize for any confusion…or distress," continued Dumbledore. It was as if he could sense Lily's discomfort. "The head girl this year, I am pleased to announce, will be Lily Evans."

I didn't applaud like everyone else; I sighed of relief. A head-girl-less Lily Evans would have been a nightmare to live with.

I turned to Lily, who was between standing and sitting, unsure what to do. She waved, hesitantly, and sat back down, flushed, but wearing a long smile. I caught her eye again, and gave her huge thumbs up of encouragement.

"Joining our head girl, will be our head boy: James Potter." Dumbledore's announcement silenced a large proportion of the student body – to be precise, the people who knew James Potter. A standout was Severus Snape, who looked like he had just swallowed a dozen sour lemons. Perhaps the most shocked of everyone was James himself - and Black - who was caught somewhere between a coughing fit and laughter.

Of course, James Potter took it all into his stride, and stood up. As he did so, loud applause erupted. James Potter waved to the Gryffindor's, and then the rest of the students. I wouldn't have put it past him to aim the next waves at McGonagall, who was doing something similar to Black. Clearly, Dumbledore's appointment was as of a shock to her as it was to the rest of us.

Potter then yanked Lily up from her seat, grabbed her hand, and raised their conjoining arms up into the air. Together, they absorbed the applause of the room. It was as if they had just announced their engagement.

I was in a place between feeling overjoyed for happy, and deep thought as to what possessed Dumbledore to make such a decision. James Potter had various talents; being a Head Boy was one of the few things he would be useless at. Nevertheless, Potter continued to suck in the praise, and eventually, took his seat. Lily was scowling at him, but managed to look pleased with herself at the same time.

In her typical fashion, Lily dived straight into head girl duty after dinner and gave the house prefects set instructions for the evening. After that, she dedicated the rest of her evening with the Gryffindor first years.

"Dweebs," James was muttering under his breath, as he passed a large group of first years that were hovering by the entrance hall, unsure what to do with themselves.

"James!" Lily snapped back. She yanked hold of his arm, and dragged him back in the direction of the nervous-looking first years.

Meanwhile, I trooped upstairs, and entered my dorm. My trunk and pet cat were waiting for me. My first job was easy; I reached into my trunk and yanked out my full-length rain jacket. I draped it over my closet mirror, accomplishing my first goal. From now on, my obsession with mirrors would cease.

My unpacking process was remarkably easy. I had three piles: the clothes I loved; the sensible clothes that due to weather, or certain conditions, I am forced to wear; and the clothes I really should chuck, but due to my annoying knack for never throwing anything out, that was not possible. It was ironic that the unwanted pile was the largest.

I had it easy compared to Emily, who had run out of storage space, and was piling clothes back into her trunk.

"First thing Lily can do with her new authority is install new wardrobes," Emily moaned as she skipped around, hanging scarves from every available place: her four-poster, her mirror, my cat cage.

"I think her first passed law will be prioritized around the first years," smiled Cameron, who had squeezed all her belongings into two drawers. Upon seeing this, Emily picked up a heap of summer dresses, and stuffed them into Cameron's leftover drawers.

"We'll see," Emily murmured. She walked over to Lily's wardrobe, and began placing her socks and gloves into the bottom draw.

"Oh be careful, Em," I said, grinning, "For all we know, that could be Potter's new draw."

"For what?" Cameron asked.

"I don't know. Toothbrush? Pajamas; socks? Surely they're at the sleepover stage?"

"Not in this room they're not!" Cameron laughed, dauntingly.

"Impossible. Boy's can't get up here anyway," Emily reminded us.

I gave her a long stare, and used my interior knowledge, "I don't think Potter will have much problem with that rule," I said, knowingly.

"Speaking of Potter," began Emily with a mischievous grin, "please, please, please tell us about the summer! Is it true Potter sleeps with his broomstick?"

"Hmmm," I said, nodding my head. Whether he did, I did not know. What I did know for a fact was Emily strived on silly gossip, and I was not one to disappoint.

"That must be…itchy," commented Emily, grinning slightly.

"I don't see the problem with it," remarked Cameron, who was in between hanging up various quidditch posters of different teams.

"You wouldn't," scowled Emily, who didn't share Cameron's passion of quidditch.

Ten o'clock came and went. The rumbling noise of a band of Gryffindor's celebrating the return to Hogwarts had lessened, and I highly suspected McGonagall had something to do with it. Amongst unpacking, I had become distracted with Emily's collection of wizarding fashion magazines. Subscribing to such magazines was just one of her many vices. I flicked through the pages with Emily on my side, commenting on things I liked, and more importantly, things I didn't.

From behind me, Cameron emerged, newly changed into her lounge pants and quidditch jumper.

"Common room?" she suggested.

Even I admitted to a touch of cabin fever, which this early on, was not a good sign. I nodded, and rose from my bed. I unbuttoned my robes, leaving the attire I had been in this morning at the Potter's house. Grinning at my pathetic attempt at looking normal and well, thin, I stripped off my waist-hugging cardigan, and instead, threw on a much looser hooded jumper.

The common room was still very much alive, buzzing with excitement and anticipation. Instead of cheering and dancing on furniture, people were now deeply involved in several games of exploding snap and chess. It amazed me how a quiet, civilized, two-person game like chess could quickly be turned into a frenzy of cheering people. It reminded me of last years final quidditch match. I walked past, absentmindedly; Chess had never been a forte of mine, but rather a game that managed to bring out all my frustrated emotions.

Cameron and I followed Emily. With a raise of her eyebrows, and a small pout, she shooed a group of second years off one of the nicer sofas in the common-room.

"You're lucky Lily didn't see that," I muttered, disapprovingly, despite the fact I was secretly glad to have this sofa.

"Don't worry, I looked both ways for her before I did it," grinned Emily, who fully reclined back into the sofas comfortable padded backing, "besides, we're seventh years this year. Let's face it, our perks flex out only as far as we allow them to."

I nodded along, knowing full well that if I did not have Emily as a friend, such privileges for me would be very, very restricted. Emily compared her standards to high mountain peaks, which honestly, isn't such a bad ethic to live by. Living with such standards ensures high hopes of promise. I, on the other hand, am quite the opposite. My low standards are like low-lying plains, and on the off-chance that they are risen up, I am pleasantly surprised. By being so low to rock bottom, there is no room for disappointment. It is a lesson I have learnt the hard way: don't build yourself up for disappointment.

"I feel like a retired old woman," commented Cameron. Her hazel eyes glanced from group to group. All of them were in high spirits. There was music blaring from the radio in the back corner; a group of older looking girls were bopping to it, while in front of them, a clan of boys was watching them.

"I feel more sad than happy," I replied, as a justification to why I was not dancing like an over-excited garden gnome.

"About this being our last year?" asked Emily. When I nodded, she gave me a stern look, "Hogwarts will end up being insignificant when we actually start our lives, and do what we want to do."

"I don't know how much of a life we're going to have with You-Know-Who around," Cameron reminded Emily, and I nodded. Hogwarts was an over-sized safe house, and remains one of the few places I truly feel safe. The Potter House, despite all its disadvantages was another place I felt secure; Mr. Potter is the head of order and security, and I knew without being assured by any of the Potters that the security around the Potter house was the best magic could produce.

"Not you too!" Emily wined to Cameron, who merely shrugged, knowing she was right. It appeared Emily did too, for she forfeited the argument and changed the subject to something a little more diplomatic: hair products.

My eyes began to wander again with the change in conversation. I did a quick 180 degree scan of the room from my position on the couch. Something on a nearby sofa forced me to do a double-take. I shouldn't have been surprised that Sirius Black and his friends were distinguishable from the crowds of other people. After steering at them for two weeks in the Potter house, I had their appearance fresh in my head, just like, I am sure, they had mine. Black's mop-top hair-do was the first thing I saw, followed closely by his gleaming smile. He was slouched lowly on the couch, making his head level with Pettigrew's. His mouth was moving fast, and his eyes fixed on Lupin and Pettigrew who were to the left of him.

Unaware I was doing it until Emily pointed it out, I buried my neck into my hooded jacket in a pathetic attempt to hide my identity (and my double chin). How stupid of me to assume I would never see Black or his friends when we shared a house common-room. I felt like a scared little girl, too afraid of, well, everything, to deal with confrontation. Despite this, I felt more awkward sitting here ignoring him when just last week, I had shared a dining table, a batch of brownies, and a floor of Mrs. Potters house with the boy. It was almost my duty to say hello, or at least wave out. Of course, I didn't dare do such a thing. Just like burying my neck into my jacket, I had just became aware that my mouth had formed a scowl.

"I wonder what's keeping Lily and Potter," wondered Emily out loud. She followed my gaze and discovered Black. She connected my scowl to him before I had a chance to re-arrange my face.

"What?" she asked, simply.

"Nothing," I muttered. I diverted my gaze, and smiled at her and Cam.

"Whatever, let's go and say hello," suggested Emily, "I bet we're the only Gryffindor's who haven't." Emily watched me intently, awaiting my response. I pulled a fake tooth-less smile, and tried to make my head nod. When I failed in doing so, Cameron spoke up.

"The pathetic thing is, that's probably true," she muttered, standing up.

Emily followed Cameron's action, eagerly, "come on," she said to me.

"No," I replied, stupidly. Despite this, I found myself rising from the sofa. I slouched, and followed Emily and Cameron over to the other couch.

"Hey!" Greeted Emily, happily. She grinned, and assertively took a seat at the end of the sofa. Of course it was easy for her; she had always been on speaking-terms with the boys. That's who Emily was; she talked to everyone, even if she had reason not to. Like when Lily and Potter were like battling forces – shark and lion – thunder and lightening. Despite Lily's demands, Emily continued to speak to Potter without hesitation – the result being a slightly strained relationship with Lily for several months, "good holiday?" Emily asked.

"One of the better ones," said Black. He grinned at us. I moved to the side of the sofa, well out of direct sight.

"Did you get much quidditch in?" Cameron asked, when none of the boys spoke.

"When you stay with James, quidditch comes in mass amounts," commented Lupin with a small chuckle.

Cameron looked on with a hopeful gaze, and I knew what she was thinking. This year would be the year; this year she would finally make it onto the quidditch team. I had witnessed every blinking moment of Cameron's quidditch career so far: there's the good, like when she nearly made the team last year. The bad arrived during the final trail, which saw Cameron mouthing off at the captain and what had been a sure-to-be appointment, became a narrow miss. Cameron had the passion in her heart, and the drive in her eyes; she always has, and I hope for her sake, as well as mine, she makes it this year. James Potter is captain, and I am sure Cameron will use this to her advantage: this includes sucking up to his good-for-nothing friends – a theory I find useless as none of them, like her, are on the Gryffindor team.

"Did you have time for anything else?" asked Emily with great interest.

The boy's shared a knowing glance that I had come to know extremely well.

"Sure," answered Pettigrew, grinning, "right Howell?"

I didn't even hear him address me; I was zoned out, in my own little world. I hadn't even realized I was staring at a nearby girl's shoes until Cameron poked me in the arm. I turned, vaguely remembering Pettigrew asking for my assurance. With a look on my face that suggested the opposite of what I said, I replied with, "absolutely."

My tone had caused quite a stir, because I had the attention of everyone. It no longer fazed me. The recollection of summer had seen the return of my tough skin exterior, and for now, I had that protecting my pathetically weak heart. Not wanting to sit around and wait for my skin's magic to disappear, I excused myself, and walked away. Having never been any good at being rude, I muttered a quiet excuse as I departed.

I would take cabin-fever over summer reminiscing any day.

No sooner had I gathered my thoughts, and taken off my jersey, when I found myself no longer alone. Cameron had walked in so fast, the door nearly swung off its hinges. If that wasn't enough for the Hogwarts building to handle, Emily was stomping so hard, whoever was below us would probably believe an earthquake was occurring.

"Did you lot go to Mars or something last week?" started Emily.

"Of course not," I snapped, unintentionally.

"Saturn?" Added Cameron, grinning.

I calmed down at the mention of a joke, and flicked my hand at my friends, an indication that whatever was wrong, it didn't matter.

"But it does matter," argued Emily, knowing exactly what my hand had meant.

"No, really, it doesn't," I lied.

Emily and Cameron fell silent. I took a seat on the nearest thing to me, which was Lily's bed. My gaze was firm, and my lips shut tight. I didn't know where to begin explaining what had happened, and for once, words were hard to come by. Sometimes I wonder if it were even real; all of it I mean – the entire summer, not just what happened on the last night. Being back at Hogwarts, everything was back to normal. I was with my own friends, and Black was with his. My theory of never seeing him may fail, but not seeing him much was at the least, possible. Order had been restored at Hogwarts: Sirius Black was not meant to associate with someone like me. Rank was imposed for a reason, and I had seen that reason first hand. Terrible things happened when people of different social ranks – or groups - mixed. Mixing is where drama originates.

"I just don't hold a lot of time for Black – or any of them, really," I said, truthfully.

"Okay, fine," replied Cameron, "we're not asking you to marry one of them. If you want, we won't hang around them more than what's absolutely necessary, okay?"

I nodded; glad I didn't have to tell the truth. It was an embarrassing truth to utter out loud, and I figured if the words didn't come freely, they weren't supposed to come at all.

Emily had gone silent, and I knew this arrangement did not suit her.

"Em, it's fine," I assured her. I could insist all I wanted for my way to become law, but I knew, Emily would never conform.

She smiled at me, and for a brief moment, I felt what I believed was a short wave of peace in our dorm. That wave collapsed abruptly. The door to our dorm swung open with a bang, and Lily marched in. At first, her lips were thin, and her brows lowered. As she entered the room, her stomping ceased, as did her hard face. She was at a place in-between fury and anxiety, which I knew, was tied together by a ribbon of uncertainty and shock.

'I hope you cursed McGonagall for making you – and more importantly, me – wait until now to hear the big announcement," I said, laughing at my joke.

Lily took a seat on her bed, and then stood up again, as if unsure what to do with herself. Her very shiny badge was already on display on her robes, in place of the prefects badge that had been there for two years.

"I'm sorry for putting you through that, Rach," she apologized, with a flick of her head. She made it sound more dramatic than it was, as if I had nursed her clinical depression or something, "I think I'm still a little shocked," she commented.

"Congrats and everything, Lily, but you're shocked? Rachel and I have had a bet going since second year," said Emily.

When Cameron looked as confused as Emily was about Lily's supposed surprise, I knew I was the only one who fully understood the reasoning behind it. It wasn't her appointment, but rather Potter's, that she was so stumped with. My only confusion was between the tone of Lily's shock: was it a pleasant surprise that he boyfriend had been made head boy, or rather a too-close-for-comfort nightmare that James Potter – Marauder extraordinaire and general troublemaker would be working alongside her in perhaps Hogwart's most serious positions. Something told me the latter was prevailing.

"Maybe McGonagall does make mistakes," I said to Lily. Her look signified that she recalled our previous conversation. She nodded, gravely.

"I nearly fell off my chair when Dumbledore called his name," confessed Lily, with a guilty expression.

"Don't beat yourself up about that; I think half the hall did. Including James," I joked.

"Are you going to – you know – tell him?" asked Emily, who had always liked honesty, and didn't have too much trouble expressing it.

Lily looked horror-stricken, "I can't," she confessed with a huge sigh, "he thinks he's unstoppable, and well, unpredictable, but he's not, and I know if I said anything, it will hurt him so much." Lily attempted to sit down again, and managed to remain seating for more than half-a-second. She looked genuinely concerned for Potter's welfare, which made me feel squirmy. "We've only been together a few months! Isn't that too early for such a hurtful conversation? ...I think I'll just have to rely on the prefects more."

"Or…" began Cameron, with a cautious expression, "just be tough on him. You don't have to tell him you doubt him," she added, once spotting Lily's uncertainty, "but when you're patrolling or doing duty, remind him that you're his Head Girl, and until duty finishes, you're not his girlfriend. He knows this means a lot to your right?" Cameron asked, and Lily nodded, "then he's going to respect that."

"And if he doesn't," began Emily.

"We'll…figure something out," finished Cameron.

It took only a few more words of comfort and support to assure Lily that this was not a disaster. Once assured, she left to have a shower, humming her favorite chorus to her favorite song, as she left.

"I give it three weeks before Lily starts threatening to drop him off the Astronomy tower," muttered Cameron, as she prepared herself for bed.

"Really?" asked Emily, doing the same motions, "I give them two. Two days."

I didn't voice a prediction, although I did have one. I don't think my opinion mattered all that much. For now, Lily was settled, thanks to her three friends who had somehow miraculously solved her problem. A little envious of how easy it had all been for Lily to voice such an issue, I left the conversation and changed into my pajamas.

My coat remained hanging on my mirror, concealing its brutality. I didn't need to look into a mirror to see myself, for everything I needed to know was is in the rapid beat of my heart, and the gut feeling of knowing that unlike Lily, I didn't think I could voice my own problems like she did.

I was content with the draping coat, and my shut mouth. If things remained concealed, my identity as the ugly, clumsy, Hippogriff girl could remain hidden. I'd be left with a half-identity, consisting of the remaining parts of me. The best thing about a half-identity was its vulnerability to being lost forever. It can slowly crumble like a shipwreck until nothing but tiny fragments of how things used to be remain. And then, with time, who I was, ceases to exist at all. With nothing left, an opportunity arises for something new to be born in its place.

* * *

Jack Howell had been well-liked by the majority of those that existed within the Hogwarts walls. That included Mrs. Norris, who had taken a liking to his peculiar aftershave and socks that always smelt a little musky. Jack was liked for his academic success in transfiguration, his carefully selected witty comments – particularly about his poor grades in ancient runes and advanced English history. Charming was used a lot in conjunction with his name. So was handsome. Jack had lived at Hogwarts for seven years and like many before him, and many after, he'd spent all seven of those years being adored and enjoyed like a favorite trophy. In addition, as if he hadn't enough success, Jack had been Gryffindor's star keeper for five and a half years. That is what had made Jack Howell _famous_ at Hogwarts.

Even though he had graduated over a year ago, my brother's existence remained largely evident as I headed to my first class. The people that weren't crowded in front of Gryffindor's public notice board (that still had an old clipping of Jack holding the quidditch cup in his final year – two years ago!) were staring at me as I walked past. Although the only thing Jack and I shared in looks were our eyes and height, people made the connection, which if I'm being honest, is mostly my fault. In my fifth year – Jack's last – Gryffindor had found themselves in the Quidditch final against Hufflepuff, who had an amazing all-male line-up. Despite criticism from most females (I don't recall a conversation with Cameron that year that didn't result in the observation that the Hufflepuff team was sexist), the team was faultless. I only knew this because Jack had spent hours telling me the exact specifics of their techniques, and listing their few faults. I attended the game out of respect for my house, but mostly for Jack. It had been intense, and I remember holding my breath in several instances. Players had endured several close-calls, and Madam Hooch's whistle had gone off every minute. I remember half-time, when Jack, rarely violent, had threatened to stuff Hooch's whistle down her throat. I also remember shortly after half-time. The two Hufflepuff beaters had been lurking around their goal, and when Jack plummeted to catch the quaffle, the two beaters had sent a bludger after him. I remember dashing from the crowd before the quaffle had even hit him. I never did see my brother hit the ground, but was the first to reach his body that was sprawled on the sand.

Turns out, Jack was fine, and after fifteen minutes (fifteen too long, in his opinion), he was flying again. What had resulted from that incident was my existence to all those that before hand, hadn't known I was Jack Howell's sister.

As I approached the transfiguration corridor, I couldn't decide if people were staring because I was Jack's sister, because I had made a dramatic scene at that final game against Hufflepuff, or because my jeans didn't quite fit but I had insisted on wearing them regardless because they made my thighs looks small.

Being in seventh year, I strolled directly into the classroom, smirking at the nearby group of fourth years who still had to line up and wait for the professor to lead them into the classroom. McGonagall's room was only a quarter full, and I doubted many more would turn up. Transfiguration was challenging, but I liked it because it's the sort of subject that if you work hard at it, passing isn't too difficult.

I spotted Lily first, her hair giving her position away. I wandered over, sitting my textbook on the table before I took a seat on the same chair, next to the same person, as I had done for the past six years. I couldn't explain Lily and my reasoning for remaining at the same table after all this time. After second year, we had established that we'd been sitting at it for so long, we may as well ought to continue doing so; sort of like a habit that you can't kick. I guess now the table is a tad more symbolic; it's a remnant of our lives here, and one of the few things that remains the same since first year. My uniform, books, out-of-fashion hairstyles, friends and crushes have come and gone over the years, but this table, positioned just to the left of McGonagall's desk, has remained unchanged. In that sense, I guess Lily and my odd fascination is nothing but normal: don't we all crave something, or someone that will always remain with us? Unchanged, as perfect as the day we first met them.

"Hi," I said to Lily out of habit, as I had seen her barely an hour ago in the dorm. Admittedly, an hour ago, I was being held captive by sleep, and had only a vague recollection of a conversation I may have had with her.

Lily ignored my greeting, and remained focused on the edge of her parchment, where she was developing an intricate doodle.

"Rach," she eventually said, still intent on finishing her drawing, "humor me with your issues."

"Why?" I asked, slowly.

"To distract me from mine," confessed Lily. She dropped her quill, turned to me, and leaned her shoulder against the desk, creating a resting place for her head.

I did not have to enquire what this was about.

"We were heading for breakfast, and we had just come out of the portrait hole when I realized I'd grabbed Emily's herbology book instead of my transfiguration one – they're both green, you see. Anyway, I told James I'd catch him up. I rushed back, and by the time I caught up with him, he was near the Entrance Hall. I walked behind him and watched how his hair flopped around, making a note to tease him about it later, when I saw him walk past these two second years. One kid had the other upside down with that stupid spell, and was swinging him like a bloody church bell – and James just walked on past."

I sympathized with a soft, understanding gaze, and then shot straight to reality, "you should be counting your lucky charms he didn't stop to egg the boy on," I said, honestly.

Lily shot me a look, and I ignored her.

"I mean, how many times have you seen Potter – I mean, James -," I corrected myself, "do that stunt himself? It's like breathing to him; he literally can't go thirty seconds without pulling it – or something else – on someone. Honestly?" I began, letting Lily know that I was about to get brutal, "maybe you should just pick your battles? – and be thankful that at least he ignored it, which I tell you, is an improvement."

"This is you paying me back for making you come with me to his house, isn't it?" suggested Lily, dryly.

"Yes," I teased, grinning.

"I hope it wasn't as bad as what you were thinking," answered Lily, sweetly.

Before I could retort with something along the lines of _it was worse, _McGonagall strode into the room. She reached the front, and placed her rolls of parchment and wand on her table. It wasn't until McGonagall told them to put their wands away, did I realize the arrival of the four boys.

For nearly as long as Lily and I had occupied our table, James Potter and Sirius Black had occupied theirs – the one directly behind us. Initially, in first year, they had started at the table in the back corner, and altered too and fro depending on James's feelings towards Lily. Like, when he discovered in fourth year that Lily Evans was potentially the cutest girl in our year, he ordered his group to move directly behind her. My favorite instance was when Lily had 'accidentally' shaved James's hair, which saw Potter and friends move back to his back-corner table. Unfortunately for me, Potter and friends have remained in the two tables behind us for a continuous stream of two years.

I hoped that a new year had brought a new level of maturity. It had always been difficult – not to mention frustratingly horrible having to endure hours of Potter and Black successfully transforming objects into animals without too much difficulty.

I was the first to reach the transfiguration door when McGonagall dismissed us five minutes early – a rare gift that I knew, would not be repeated in a hurry. I wondered if she, like me, had had enough of Potter and Black's pointless mutterings.

My satchel swung dangerously at my side as I trekked through the half-empty corridors. I liked leaving class early. Not only did it ensure I made it to my next lesson with time to spare, but also the corridors weren't packed to the brim with students rushing to reach their destination, too absorbed in just getting there to consider anyone else, or more importantly, their journey.

My astronomy room this year was half-way up the tower. The staircase didn't even bother me, and as I ascended, I barely felt the pressure in my legs, nor was I aware that I was taking the steps two at a time. I knew astronomy was going to be the highlight of my year. The class would be small – 14 people, max. I knew Sinistra was overly fussy about selecting her students, and picked them not by their grades, but rather their attitudes. It was therefore with confidence that I knew not Potter, Black, Pettigrew- or even Lupin – would be returning this year. After last years incident involving all four of them and Sinatra's much-loved limited-edition telescope set, their fate had been sealed, and I did not expect to see any of their four faces in class – least of all Black, who had been responsible for the breaking of one of the limited edition telescopes while pretending it was a Victorian-style fighting sword.

I reached the third landing, not surprised to be the first one there. I walked into the classroom, leaving the dark purple door that was decorated with corny moons and stars open. I took a seat on the right hand side of the room. I retrieved by book – which I had already half-read, and placed my satchel on the neighboring chair, saving it for Emily, who I knew, would be late (if she bothered to turn up). I couldn't help but smile: this would be just like old times.

Ever since third year, when Emily and I elected to start astronomy together, we had been seating partners. The enjoyment of sitting next to Emily had far exceeded any of my classroom expectations. Academically, we're in synch, but it became more than that. With her determination to be right, and my hard-working ethics (when astronomy was concerned, anyway), we were like the unstoppable duo – or as Jack would have put it, like the all-male Hufflepuff quidditch team. For once in my life, I shone like a star and not an artificial beam of light simply mimicking the brightness of stardom. Every lesson we laughed – gossiped – joked and bonded over everything from a planets peculiar coloring to last months Witch's Weekly magazine.

Astronomy class was like a cure. It didn't matter if I was secretly annoyed with Emily leading up to class; as soon as we were in the walls of the classroom, everything, down to the last ignorant comment on her behalf, was forgotten. In class, we changed from naïve girls to mature woman who forgot about disagreements and assignments. I sometimes wonder if astronomy is the reason we've remained friends all these years, and if it is, I what it is about the planets and moons and stars and other universes that bring people together? It's the unfamiliarity behind it all, and the realization that the journey into the unknown is much better traveled with a companion.

Slowly, other students entered the room and took their seats. I kept a watch, anxiously awaiting Emily's arrival.

After a few minutes, my stomach took a turn for the worst and started performing summersaults and flips – moves that I didn't think I, or any part of my body, had in me until now. As the gymnastics in my stomach doubled in complexity, a close colleague of mine surfaced: my small scowl that was having difficulty containing frustration and shock of the highest levels. Unable to control it, my mouth formed a perfect open circle as Black stood in the purple doorway. Before I had a chance to start making assumptions that he was lost – or had the wrong classroom – or was trying to ruin my life – Black took a seat two rows behind me. Still having difficulty with this whole controlling myself thing, I didn't even try to stop my eyes following him to his seat. My circled mouth extended in circumference as he pulled out the textbook corresponding to this class.

Black nodded at me upon catching my rude gawking. I spun around, not returning any gesture that could be interpreted as welcoming or pleasurable upon seeing him.

Fantastic. He would have a direct-angle of my backside for the entire year. After staring at my bum for as long as I could remember, a contrast between it and a large planet could be made.

"_But Professor, I won't be needing a telescope this year at all; I have a direct close up shot of a planet right in front of me: the Planet of Howell's Arse_," I could practically hear Black say to Sinistra.

In a matter of minutes – no seconds – astronomy had become less magical; a dead-beat class just like all the others. All I longed for was a new medical condition that wasn't quite strong enough to kill me, but would give me an excuse to abruptly leave astronomy and never return.

Emily arrived just before Sinistra. If I were a planet, like I presumed Black was thinking, I would be as far away from the sun, or the central pull of gravity, as possible. I would be in constant darkness, in search of a glimmer of light, even if it was as artificial as a street lamp.

"I don't know who peed in your cereal, but you should get over it," muttered Emily, bluntly. She got comfortable in her chair, and leveled her head as close to mine as possible without actually making it touch the desk, "get over it and move onto something enthralling; like Yvonne Lannel's new hairstyle. She's finally done what everyone told her not to do. Got a perm." Emily spoke with such a dramatic flare anyone would have thought Lannel's new hair was the new front-runner for Minster of Magic. I couldn't help but wonder how my friend would process my news: would it be as serious to her as it was to me, or end up next to Yvonne's bad hair-do and become the latest addition to silly class time gossip and scandals. Gossip at Hogwarts, I knew, was only inches away from getting its own newspaper – or at least its own notice board. It traveled at the speed of a snitch, but with the power and motives of a bludger that openly sought to hurt people.

"She looks like a poodle. And not the cute ones," added Emily when I didn't reply.

"Perms don't last forever," I said, sighing. _Not like bums do_, I felt like adding.

"Now you're peeing in my cereal," replied Emily. I didn't have to look at her to tell she had rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," I muttered. I lifted my head and smiled softly. My cheeks were tight with restraint as I did so. A smile, an action of happiness, should never be so forced or feel like hard work.

Sinistra was standing at the front of the class, waiting for silence. I nodded at Emily and we diverted our attention. Sinistra explained the class outline and our main topics for the year. She emphasized exam criteria and essay deadlines. My head began to compile the information into the part of my memory I, or rather my subconscious, had allocated for school stuff. The rest of my short-term memory was fixated on this morning's transfiguration class, and the fact that I had missed breakfast, and that my choice in attire first thing today had been a horrible mistake. As for my long-term memory, that was another story all-together. It was a storybook of information, people and places, and times: little fragments of all the things that made me who I was complied into one book. The book was my identity.

What made me Rachel Howell were the strands of knowledge I had acquired. People shaped my character, and each location to which I have ventured has a story. There are times in my life when I have smiled wider than a rising sun, and have suddenly caught myself lost for words; those are the times when ones breath is taken away.

Also disclosed in my long-term memory, imprinted like a tough stain, remained one other recollection. It, like the memories I hold most dear, defines who I am. To say that people shape who you are should be considered incorrect, but I know better. They do shape you, and most of the time it's not up to you to decide what your brain and heart choose to remember. The large-scale feelings of the brain and heart have a mind of their own and as humans we are left with the most difficult aspect of all. We have to look past the 'whys' and 'what ifs', and focus simply on the task of keeping ourselves alive: we must live and breathe, day in and day out, with the memories that we wish to one day forget.

Emily, Sinistra and the Astronomy classroom were clouded and distant, as if covered in a gas-like substance common of planets like Jupiter. When Sinatra's instructions were nothing more than undistinguishable whispers lost in translation, I felt myself glide away completely…

My mind was a dangerous place to be lead astray, and as I slipped away, I knew trouble was only moments away. Having insecurities make me feel weak, but also conscious of all the people that may notice it too. I've forgotten the people that are willing to accept me for just the way I am. Ironically so, all I notice are the few people who don't.

When Emily began tapping my arm, I snapped out of whatever whirlpool I was in, and turned to her, suddenly alert.

"You free for lunch after this?" she asked.

I half-turned around and stared at Black. He was playing with the corner of his textbook, appearing mistakenly innocent.

"No, sorry. I've got to meet with McGonagall."

"Oh, okay, what for?"

"My timetable needs to be changed," I muttered, definitely. It was hopeful to the point of stupidity to wish that with a small meeting with McGonagall, and a few simple timetable alterations, that Sirius Black would be out of my life forever.

* * *

McGonagall's corridor was the closest I got to achieve my goal. My strides had been long, and my satchel bag was in danger of falling off my shoulder, but I didn't care that I looked a little insane, or that my bag was hurting people alongside me. If I didn't have to attend another Astronomy lesson, it would all be worth it.

I felt a strong grip on my shoulder just as I had turned the corner. I spun around, and successfully managed to swipe the person with my satchel. When I saw it was Lily, I quickly formed an apologetic look – but not too apologetic; she had just delayed me achieving my goal.

Emily and Cameron were directly behind her; I frowned at their united front.

"You're coming to lunch," said Lily. I laughed at her tone that suggested a Head-girl weighty influence; I then straightened up. Rank was nothing when I was inches taller than her.

"I'm just off to see McGonagall," I answered, "I'll meet you there afterwards, if things go smoothly,"

"No," defied Lily, definitely, "you're coming to lunch, and you're going to tell us what is wrong."

Suddenly, astronomy class looked attractive, and as Lily dragged me by the wrist towards the Great Hall, I thought up a convincing lie – not only to convince my friends, but also myself.

As we turned the first corner, my favorite lie was that my Grandmother was fatally ill, and my concern for her has clouded over my usual relaxed attitude.

By the second corner, I much preferred the fib that I think I'm going to fail this year, and I'm concerned about every little grade.

Five corners later and the lies had become so horrible and heartrending that the truth looked nothing but trivial and petty. I'm guilty of many white lies, but only few big blunders, and I regret every one. This…thing…this insult could not become something larger than what it already was. I would inform my friends, and that would be the end of it. Black was a pig, and I resembled a Hippogriff; there are bigger, more important things than my pitiful self-esteem issue going on right around me that everyone else is too caught up in: Lily has her James/Head Boy fiasco; Cameron is too busy worrying about quidditch trials to do anything else but sleep and eat; and Emily…well Emily will be discussing Yvonne's hair crisis to anyone that will listen for the next month – at least.

"What classes are you changing?" Emily asked as Lily led us towards the Gryffindor table. She chose the furthest end, which was deserted.

"Astronomy," I replied.

"You are not!" Emily shot back, her mouth gapping.

"Nonsense, that's your best subject," Cameron added.

"I want to take Athermancy," I lied, although that class did look somewhat attractive; all Sirius-Black-less classes did.

"Sit down," Lily instructed us, "Rach is not moving out of astronomy, and she is not going to see McGonagall – at least not during this lunch time anyway. Now; speak." When I remained motionless, Lily continued her rant, "I'm serious, Rachel. What is it? Is someone sick? Have you failed a class? What on earth happened this summer that's got you so hung up?"

"How do you know it happened during summer?" I asked.

"Because you were normal three months ago – even though it was exam time…" explained Lily.

While Emily and Cameron had begun on today's sandwich selection, Lily's gaze remained focused on me – which was saying something because today's sandwiches were filled with cream cheese and salmon – a shared favorite between herself and me.

"Are you mad – like truthfully furious – at me for making you come to James's house. Is that it? Because if it is – Rach, I'm so sorry."

I shook my head, although noted that if I was a worse person, I could always blackmail Lily with that.

I sunk my eyes, and bowed my head, silently telling Lily – and the others, if they were watching – that I was about to confess. I felt insignificant, too hung up on how my friends would react to even consider forming a sentence together. Would they laugh? This is usually the sort of thing that Emily finds funny, and Cameron scoffs at. Would Lily have a go at Potter about it? Would she abuse Black, and therefore revealing to him that I overheard? Even worse, would my friends even care? Or, would they congratulate Black for simply stating the obvious - that yes my thighs were huge and my face had the prettiness of a Hippogriff – and reduce my self-confidence to minus a million? Could the repercussions of what I heard be worse than the actual remark itself?

"I just…overheard something, that's all," I confessed.

"About what? You-Know-Who? About school? What was it?" replied Lily, quickly.

"Nothing like that," I assured all my friends, for Cam and Emily had abandoned their sandwiches, "it was about me."

"When was this?" asked Cam.

"The last day of summer," I muttered.

"When we were swimming down at the lake?" Lily offered.

"It was at night, you were asleep…" Lily nodded, egging me forward. I gulped, reluctant to do so. My last thought before speaking was that maybe, if I was lucky, some good may come of this. Although I doubted it; secrets always had a way of becoming not-so-secret, and I had learnt that if you truly wanted to keep something concealed, the best thing to do was not to tell anyone. Not a soul.

"Well, it appears size and looks have a new scale – from sleek and shiny broomstick to awkward, clumsy hippogriff. According to Sirius Black, I am very much the latter." The truth came out the only way I knew how; it sounded like a joke. It sounded like every other serious thing I discuss: as if I truly couldn't care less. The apathetic tone and laughter-coated cough that followed concealed the pain.

"What?" asked Cameron. I couldn't quite tell if she didn't understand what I had said, or if she was searching for an answer to cure her disbelief.

I looked away from the table, from my friends. I could not look them in the eye, and feared that if I attempted to, my voice would fail. And so, it was with a bowed head and an expression of the highest discomfort that I repeated – in clear English – what I had overheard.

My words hung in midair like a dense rain cloud. As my friends changed from being relatively chipper to bewildered and angry, I wanted nothing more than for a giant gust of wind to blow my words – the truth - right back into my mouth. I wanted to conceal them again, and wished it was as simple as putting a rain jacket over a mirror.

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